Dance With Me
by Blooappall
Summary: A simple oneshot. Zuko and Katara dance together in a competition. Postwar.


I couldn't resist. Most of this is taken from 'Slaves of the Mastery' (very cool book). I just changed the names and places, and added in a few bits of my own.

Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did.

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Together they stepped up onto the platform, and presented themselves first to the judges, then to the audience surrounding them. The male judge looked over the young couple, observing the nervous swallows of the young woman and the barely perceptible perspiration at the young man's throat. The tantaraza was not easy. Kinoya wondered whether the couple would be any good at it. He supposed not.

Their respects to others paid, the man now held out his right hand, and aligned his body. His partner took his hand with a firm grasp, pivoting on the balls of her fee to adopt the correct opening position. Madame Sima, the other judge, was agreeably surprised. They moved well. Perhaps the dance would be a pleasure to watch after all.

The musical introduction ended, and the dance itself began. The man moved to the left: step, step, step. She was with him. To the right: step, step, step. And the salute. Perfect! No attempt at grand gestures, just the correct move, pure and unadorned. And now, with the sudden sweep of the music, round into the spins, round. Round! Round! And stop! They were there! What an arrest! Madame Sima saw it, Kinoya saw it, Zuko felt it thrill through his body. She could dance!

Hands out, heels and toes clicking, they came in for the re-join, and as he took her in his arms he sensed her joy in the dance, and all other thoughts, all other hopes and fears left him. This was the tantaraza, the dance of love, and he was in love, and he would dance as he had never danced before. Round and round they swirled, lost in the rhythms of the music, their flying feet barely touching the wood of the platform.

Every eye, every heart was captured by the dance. Zuko and Katara, like birds on the wind, were carried by the pulsing sweeping melody, round and back, falling into each other's arms and allowing themselves to be tossed away again, like the very soul of yearning fickle love itself. Kinoya was following every move with miniature echoing moves of his own body. Madame Sima watched in complete rigidity, her body straining, her mouth open, frozen in anticipation of each unfolding beat.

As for the dancers themselves, they were possessed. Zuko no longer thought of leading his partner. Neither of them led. They flew together, in the only way possible, the way the music commanded and their bodies desired – away, away, and round, reaching, not yet touching, and away! And back! Spinning into each other's arms – ah, so lightly, barely brushing as they met, before passing and leaping, down on one foot, the spin! The return! The clasp!

Katara danced as if after this dance her life would end: as if nothing and no one existed but this man, this music, this small spinning stage. He had been her enemy, the boy she must destroy, but now he was her partner, her lover, herself: for as long as the dance lasted, they were two bodies become one.

She felt his strong arms around her as she fell back, confident that he would not let her fall; and felt his beating heart as she rose again, her breast pressed to his chest. She spread her arms wide and he lifted her, and she dropped to the ground, feeling almost weightless, the broken drumbeat began again, that sound of startled birds crackling up out of bracken, _clacka-clacka-killacka-clack_, and together, within the same heartbeat, they exploded into free flight. One mind, one song, two bodies in motion: precise poise and total abandon, melting together in a dance that was one long unfolding embrace.

In this state of grace, Katara knew there were no rules, no limits, her body could do anything, because everything it did was beautiful and necessary and right. She danced like one who falls from an unthinkably great height: to fall truly she need do nothing, except not resist. And so, smiling, glowing, lovely, she fell towards the climax.

The pipes and the fiddles came surging back, to tell the raptured dancers that the final phase had begun. Without conscious thought, they both slipped into the arise, parting, hands raised, meeting for the merest fingertip touch, parting again, in an accelerating rhythm. With each retouch they came closer together, though by no more than an inch, and held their touching hands higher; with each parting they spun farther away from each other, so that as the music began to hammer towards its climax, they were hurtling away and throwing themselves back, into an almost-embrace, closer, closer, arms higher, higher, and on the long high call of the pipes, arms up high over their heads, face to face, breast to breast, they turned slowly, still not touching, the spectators hardly daring to breathe, famished for the promised embrace, until the music released them at last, and they fell into each other's arms.

Silence. Then a great sigh arose from all around. Then the applause, rising in a deep roar, the deep steady satisfaction that greets a true ending. Zuko held Katara close, and felt her shiver as she panted to regain her breath. He leaned his head close over her shoulder and whispered,

"May I dance with you till the day I die."

She pressed a small kiss into the shell of his ear, and whispered back,

"Until the day I die, this dance is for you."

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Review please! 


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